


Making love out of nothing at all

by VenezuelanWriter



Series: Making love out of nothing at all [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester in Denial, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 22:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenezuelanWriter/pseuds/VenezuelanWriter
Summary: A graceless Castiel realized he was in love with Dean. After asking Sam for advice, he decided to tell Dean the truth. From there, things didn't turn out as he would've wanted them to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a long-ass oneshot, but I've decided to start posting it by chapters to give my dear friend Raya a birthday gift♥. 
> 
> I love you, girl. You're the best IF anyone could ask for! I hope you enjoy this!! I promise you and all readers that I'll try to update a chapter at least every two weeks (and more often if it's possible).
> 
> Title of the fic because of Air Supply's song. This is unbeta'd.

Castiel had already accepted that he was in love with Dean. It wasn’t an easy or sudden realization, but he eventually got to the certain conclusion that it wasn’t even just love—because he loved Sam and he knew the difference—but that he was _in_ love with Dean.

Being human had come with all sort of changes: there were the physical ones, of course, which were indescriptibly new for him. He experienced for the first time ever pain and hunger, just as wonderful and remarkable things like the pleasure of eating something delicious or of having a long night of sleep after a tiring day.

But above all of that, the indisputable best thing of being human was being able have feelings. If he may had been developing feelings before, when he still was an angel, now that his grace was gone it had just gotten exponentially worse. Or he should say _better_ , because feelings were what he had to qualify as the greatest virtue in humanity.

He was lucky he had the best teachers to get him started and experienced in all of those matters: Sam and Dean. Those two were the best, with-the-strongest-concept-of-family men Castiel had ever known in all his life since God created him.

Unpleasant feelings were very important despite being, well, unpleasant. Guilt, for example, helped him realize when he’d done something wrong, like lying to his friends or saying something that might hurt their feelings. He’d also gone through some grieve after Kevin, which although was nothing compared to how Dean and Sam felt about it, it’d been enough to teach him about empathy and emotional comfort.

And about the gratifying feelings, he just lacked of words despite his vast vocabulary to describe those. All he could say was that he was glad to know humanity had always enjoyed the pleasure of experimenting good and happy feelings: the definite biggest perk ofhis grace being gone.

Starting from his loyalty towards Sam and Dean, which only got stronger in his chest with every day that passed, to the simpleness of laughing at some silly joke he’d managed to understand.

From being guided by love whenever he was tempted to lose all hopes in whatever mission they were in, to ease his conscience by offering a word of support whenever either of the Winchester brothers obviously needed it.

As he learned from feelings and emotions by experience, he investigated sometimes the theory behind them. That’s how he was so sure when he reached the conclusion that he was in love with Dean.

It was more than friendship, than caring, than worrying and missing. It was the combination of all of that plus that peace on his chest when he could spend time with Dean or cause him —even if it was indirectly— any sort of happiness or comfort.

What was left to do was to finally act on those feelings. He didn’t have anything on his knowledge that suggested Dean would return them, but that’s why he wouldn’t go to Dean right away. First, he’d ask Sam for advice. He knew his brother better than Dean knew himself.

*

Dean had gotten out to buy groceries —meaning beers and whichever greasy and unhealthy food he found on his way to the beers.

Sam was sitting in the library room, trying to synchronize his tablet with the Men of Letters’ speakers, somewhat surprisingly professional for a bunch of middle aged men that used to reunite the past century to hunt the supernatural of their world.

Sam was distracted by Cass’ footsteps, looking as if he was walking straight to him. Sam looked his way and offered a short smile.

“Hey, Cass. You didn’t find anything good to watch on TV?” He asked, already eyeing the tablet again.

“It’s not that. I want to talk to you,” his serene as always voice said.

“Okay, Cass. What’s on your mind?” He asked, still frowning at the screen.

“I need to talk to you about Dean.”

Sam’s frown deepened. He locked the tablet and put it aside on the large table. Cass took a sit next to him.

“Dean? What about him?” Sam asked, concerned. Conversations that started like this rarely meant something good.

“Nothing. Nothing bad, I guess. I just wanted to ask you if-” Cass cut himself from continuing. He looked away from Sam's eyes and sighed. Sam held his hands together over the table.

“If?” Sam pushed.

“Do you think your brother—do you think he’d go on a date with me?”

Sam wouldn’t choke on air just yet. Maybe Cass didn’t know what a date actually was, what it implied.

“A date?”

“Yeah. that’s the accurate terminology, right? When two individuals go out together to enjoy themselves?”

“No? I mean yes, it is, but do you want to take _Dean_ on a date? Not just going out?”

Cass looked as if he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It was strange seeing him that annoyed.

“I know that it would mean that I’m interested in him, yes. Romantically,” he finally said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. So Cass had feelings for Dean, huh? He probably should’ve seen that one coming. Before he elaborated a reply, Cass continued.

“I have feelings for him, Sam. Don’t misunderstand me, I have feelings for you, too. Good feelings, but with him it’s different, I-”

Sam breathed out a grin.

“You know, Cass? You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. You like Dean.”

His friend smiled at the last words. His former-angel friend, who he thought was like a second brother to him and who was so screwed right now.

“So, about the date?” Castiel asked.

Sam took a deep breath as he leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Uh, I-I don’t know, Cass. You know Dean,” he shrugged, “he’s a complicated man.”

Cass nodded slowly. He cocked his head to a side, in understanding instead of confusion.

“You don’t think he likes me.”

Sam wished he didn’t have to bring Cass the bad news. But he couldn’t lie to him, either.

“Not in the way you like him, no.”

Sam immediately felt guilty: Cass’ face saddened and, if it were possible, it would’ve looked like if he’d just lost another pair of wings.

“But, hey, let me see if I can get you something," Sam added enthusiastically. "You know, dig up and see if there’s a chance he is into you. Or men, at all.”

Cass offered a weak smile at such hopes.

“I appreciate it, Sam. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

False hopes, most likely, Sam thought. But hey, hope was the last thing men should lose.


	2. Chapter 2

The road was one of Sam’s favorite parts of the family business. At the beginning, it brought him closer to Dean after so much time of being drowned in his college life. Later, it was his moment to hit the lore when cases got rougher as time passed on, and the road could also mean valuable hours of sleep, if in that occasion he’d already spent the night before doing the research necessary.

When they wrapped up the cases, though, on their way back to the bunker, it was precious time to think. Sometimes about Dean’s music taste—“driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole”— , sometimes about the innocent lives a monster had taken, and others not so frequent, about Castiel’s feelings for Dean.

Sam had offered Cass something he actually wasn’t sure he could give him. How was he supposed to bring that subject up? He knew it was a lost case. Dean Winchester liking men? Yeah, right. It was the only thing that could take their lives further away from normal.

Well, all things considered, for not being related Cass and Dean had a very strong bond. Maybe Sam should follow his own advice and stop being so hopeless. Well, if he were totally hopeless he would definitely  _ not  _ be about to try getting info on the matter out of Dean.

With some Asia music as his background, Sam found the courage in him to finally do it.

“Hey, Dean,” he said. He turned the volume of the music down, only making Dean throw a hard glanre at him.

“What’s up?” his brother replied.

Sam combed his hair back with his hand.

“Remember when Andrew came out to us?”

Dean frowned slightly.

“Andy? From Kansas?”

“Yeah, that one,” Sam answered while nodding.

“Of course I remember.” He shrugged carelessly. “I’d only had two beers by then,” he added with a smirk.

“Right. What do you think about that?”

“About what? Andy being gay?”

“Yeah, you know, just, the whole thing.”

Sam was not making it casual. He knew it. But apparently he couldn’t stop the mess either.

“First off, that it was obvious,” Dean said, cocking head to a side. “Man, that guy was only one shot away to join the strippers and do a lap dance to the bartender.”

“And besides that?” Sam pushed.

Dean took his eyes off the lonely road and turned to Sam. Sam felt the staring and looked at him as well.

“Sam, what are you asking me? Are you suddenly worried I took after my father’s homophobia?” Dean asked, now more serious. 

“What? No! Of course not. Charlie was our friend and you never cared about that.”

Sam knew that he couldn’t underestimate Dean’s intelligence. Thinking that he hadn’t noticed by then that the conversation, which came out of freaking nowhere, most certainly had a clear goal would’ve been an insult.

“So?” Dean asked, unconvinced. He focused on the road again, but his right hand tensed and flexed around the steering wheel. “Is this a questionnaire to check I haven’t changed my mind about gay people? Are you finally about to cross the river?” His tone was defensive and it was already lowkey attacking Sam.

“No, Dean,” Sam replied in a much calmer voice. He sighed then continued, “It’s just a questionnaire to check if you haven’t ever thought about crossing the river yourself.”

Dean snorted. “C’mon, Sam, you know me better than this,” Dean smirked, probably at the ridiculousness of Sam’s supposed intentions. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to tell me you’re gay? ‘Cause seriously, man, nothing has changed here if so.”

Sam sighed again, but ten times louder than before.

“I’m no gay, Dean.”

None of them said anything else. Now only Brown Sugar was the only thing that could lowly be heard in the car, but Sam knew the conversation was not over. He was ready to have Dean bringing the subject up again when they got to the bunker, or in a week, or in a month when he’d almost forgotten about it.

However, he was not ready for Dean having an enlightening spark in that exact moment.

“Oh God,” Dean said.

“What?”

“It’s Cass, isn’t it? Cass told you he’s gay and you’re making sure I’m not gonna make a fuss outta it when he tells me?”

Sam remained silent. Could he actually say that was a lie? Should he?

“Fuck!” Dean said. He cracked an exasperated laugh. “He  _ is  _ gay!”

“He never told me so,” Sam replied matter-of-factly. “And if you think about it, he’s never said the opposite, either.”

All Sam wanted was to open the damn passenger’s door and stop having that discussion with his older brother. It should’ve gone smoothly!

“What do you know, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I can’t tell you that, Dean,” Sam replied. Dean sent him an impressed look. “It’s not my story to tell, alright? Let’s just forget I ever started this conversation.”

“I definitely won’t,” Dean said.

Dear Lord. Why had Sam even tried? Right, because of the supposed strong bond that gave Cass hopes. Now Sam needed his own self-encouragement to stop feeling stupid. He could find ghosts’ lei motives to go after a specific pattern of housewives and he couldn’t do a friend a simple favor that involved asking his brother some questions casually.

Dean turned up the music volume. Sam should’ve decided to sleep that day.

*

Castiel was disappointed when Sam told him that trying to ask Dean where he was standing in the heterosexual spectrum had not turned out successfully.

According to Sam, Dean had even already guessed that the aleatory choice of topic had been related to his own petitions and interests.

Castiel was not mortified about that. In his mind, even the worst case scenario contemplated that Dean would be okay with his neutrality toward the gender of whoever he chose to fall in love with. Which still sounded surreal, even if it was just in his head:  _ falling in love. _

With that in mind, he went downstairs to have breakfast with Sam and Dean. It was Saturday morning and until the night before the only plans for that day were staying home, cleaning, and resting.

He walked to the dining room, where Sam was having pancakes at the table.

“Good morning, Sam.”

Sam nodded with his mouth full. Castiel went to the kitchen to serve himself a plate.

“Morning,” Sam said kindly back in the dining room.

Castiel noticed Dean was nowhere around. Would he still be sleeping?

“Where’s Dean?” He asked Sam.

“Out. He went for orange juice because he said after this ‘Godforsaken week’ he needed something better than water to have with his pancakes.”

“Oh,” Castiel said.

In times like those, he wished he still had wings to go to the store and get the things they needed. He would do that and so much more for both Sam and Dean.

He served four pancakes, went to the dining room and joined Sam. After some bites of his food, Castiel decided to start some ‘small-talk’. He needed to keep practicing his conversational,  _ people  _ skills. He was human now, but that didn’t mean he’d mastered those abilities inherent to human beings.

“Sometimes, I wish I still had my wings,” he said.

“Yeah? Why do you say it?”

“Oh. I was just thinking that if I had them we wouldn’t have to go to the store by car to get the things we need.”

Sam smiled for a moment.

“I actually thought you didn’t miss at all being an angel,” he said before sipping his water.

“I do, just that in a small proportion compared to all the good things I find in being human.”

Sam didn’t say anything else, but he had drawn in his features that he was thinking about something.

“Isn’t it strange?” Sam finally asked. “That first you were just this entity with no shape, and then you’re like us?”

Castiel was hit by a ton of memories. Creation, Heaven, wars, hunger, crisis—  

“At first. When I had to come here for the first time and I had to fit myself in a vessel—it didn’t feel enough for so much greatness, for an  _ angel’s grace _ .”

“How did you look before having a vessel?” Sam asked. He sounded so curious. “I mean no offense, but you even turned Pamela blind when she saw your true form.”

Castiel thought about it for a moment. It was something so complicated to explain. Angels had no shape; they didn’t look like media portrayed them and definitely not like anything that could be imagined by a human mind.

“I think the accurate word for it is ‘abstract’.”

Sam snorted.

“Not that I don’t like this topic,” Sam said, lightheartedly. “I actually think it’s very interesting. But I really wanted to talk to you about Dean too, you know? I had no idea that you liked him.”

Castiel sighed. Sam’s surprise sometimes frustrated him. Now that he was human, he understood so much better how annoying it was to deal with society’s standards.

“Is it because he’s a man?” He asked, keeping his eyes on his food.

“Mostly. Partly, I don’t know.”

At least he was being honest, Castiel thought.

“Sometimes I think that things would’ve been a lot easier if I had chosen a feminine vessel.

“I would still be me and I still would’ve fallen in love with Dean.” Castiel lifted his eyes to meet Sam’s. “But now my grace is gone and I’m not a male vessel, but an actual flesh and bone man. Now I own this anatomy and this social gender and-”  _ It feels like disgrace. _ “And it’s so limiting.”

Sam took in a deep breath and sighed. He looked at Castiel with something he hoped wasn’t pity. 

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Sam said.

“And when I see him it’s so—so real,” Castiel continued, by then unable to shut up about how consuming the whole situation was. “I know that my feelings wouldn’t change no matter in what body or shape or time I’m in. I love his spirit, Sam. I don’t even love him for what he’s done. Which, yeah, is both a cause and a consequence of who he is, but he’s so much more than that.” He was running out of air, but he didn’t even notice it. “Just like you. You two are all the lives you’ve saved, all the sacrifices for the greater good you’ve made, you’re the strength and loyalty toward every single one you call family. And he’s just—he’s  far from perfect and I won’t say the contrary. But he’s grown to be the best version of himself. He’s been-”

“I’m back!” Dean called from the bunker door.

_ To hell and back _ , Castiel thought. He was brought to reality, out of his monologue that could’ve gone on forever.

“I got snacks for a movie night,” Dean said going down the stairs. “How does that sound?”

“Like normal people plans,” Sam said. “That come very handy these days. You’re joining, Cass?”

Both pair of eyes focused on him.

“Of course, movie night sounds great.”

And like that, another day of his human and fleeting life would go on without telling Dean how he felt about him.


	3. Chapter 3

In some nasty motel room in Colorado, Dean, Cass, and Sam were digging up the mysterious assassination of three men. The pattern that had drawn their attention out was that all victims had died during working hours, with an autopsy that read _drowning_ as their C. O. D. although the men weren’t submerged in water.

They still didn’t know what they were dealing with, which made Sam very uneasy. He was hitting the lore online as fast as he could, but he feared it wouldn’t be fast enough to save another life.

In the meanwhile, Dean kept looking at the case files to hopefully find new leads and Cass was out in the street bakery getting them dinner. His hunting and especially his research abilities were still somewhat… rusty, for lack of a better word.

A knock on the door pulled Sam out of his bubble. He knew Cass would’ve just come in and they weren’t expecting visitors. Sam exchanged looks with Dean and rose to his feet, grabbing a gun from the nightstand.

He opened the door just enough to see who it was and kept the gun hidden. A young brunette woman was standing in the hall. She gave him an apologetic look.

“Hi, is Grayson here?” she asked him.

He shook his head, a little skeptical.

“No, you must have the wrong room number.”

She looked very disappointed.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” she said before walking away.

He closed the door and soon enough he heard her knock on the front room. Grayson—where had he heard that name before?

“What was it? Girl scout selling cookies?”

“Girlfriend looking for boyfriend, probably,” Sam answered as he returned the gun to where it was.

"I bet she's gonna tell him she's pregnant," Dean joked.

Sam snorted.

"Yeah, that is a possibility," he replied.

The name Grayson kept echoing in Sam's head. He was amazing with names and he could remember almost by heart all names and last names of other hunters, friends, allies, enemies... why would _Grayson_ ring a special bell in his head? Why couldn't he match the name with a face?

However, it probably wasn’t as important as finding out what creature they had to go after, so he would retake the issue when Colorado became a safer place again.

*

After three nights of little to no sleep, they’d ended the evil spirit of the powerful ghost-slash-mermaid (because apparently that was a thing) of a woman that had died over a century ago.

It was late and they were exhausted, to say the least, so it was not going to be until the next morning that they started the road trip back to Kansas.

Laid on the motel bed, Sam started to try his best to remember where had he heard the name Grayson before. It was not until some 20 minutes of thinking that a brilliant idea had come to his head: Facebook.

He was so used to doing research on the deep web and hacking into police department’s databases that he forgot such useful platforms for mundane things were out there. Despite his eyes were tired and he almost couldn’t handle the screen brightness, he unlocked the phone and started looking for Graysons.

He scrolled down for a while, trying to adjust the filters in a way that would make it easier for him to find whoever he might've been looking for. He was just about to quit his stalking for the day when he found it: Grayson Parker. The photo of a guy much older than the one he’d met clicked in his head, as dates and memories added perfectly up.

The events, now so distant, replayed almost in black and white on his head. Out of an initial blur, the story became clearer and he finally could reconstruct it fully. Heck, he couldn’t believe the things that started going back to him. He needed to talk to Cass as soon as possible and only God knew how thankful Cass would be for that brunette knocking on the wrong door.

*

The first thing Sam heard the next morning was the curtains of the room sliding open. Then the sunlight coming through the window hit his closed eyelids and finally he half-opened his eyes to see a grinning Dean tying his shoes.

Dean looked at him still leaning down.

“Hell, I wanna go back home.”

Sam sat on the bed and sighed.

“Yeah. That makes two of us.”

Sam looked to where Cass was sitting, immediately remembering what he had to tell him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dean was gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Cass, you think we can talk for a second? Out.”

Because no, Sam was not waiting to get to the bunker to bring him the good news.

Dean looked between Sam and Cass and raised his eyebrows.

“If you’re watching Glee together you can just say it in front of me, you know.”

Cass looked at Dean for a moment, probably missing the reference completely, and nodded at Sam.

“Shut up, dude,” Sam said as he stood to his feet and followed Cass out of the motel room.

Sam closed the door behind him and walked down the hall. He didn’t want Dean to listen even by accident what they’d discuss and he knew by far how thin hotel walls were.

“So?” Cass asked, impatient.

“I’d forgotten about this entirely and Dean made me _swore_ I’d never tell anyone, and I think he pushed me so hard into forgetting it that I'd actually erased it almost permanently from my memory, but—” Cass’ eyes were full with curiosity and excitement. Sam’s hands were gesturing all over the place. “I think there’s hope for you.”

“What do you mean? What changed?”

*

_Sam could only dream about a time when he no longer had to go with his Dad on his hunts. Being 12 and spending summer going from town to town just to stay in with Dean in motel rooms, while their Dad did "dangerous things", was not his definition of happiness. He only wanted to be old enough to go to college, honestly.  
_

_"My sister and I sell lemonade and walk dogs on summers so we have our own money," Alissa's voice said in his head._

_Instead of anything remotely close to that, he was stuck with Dean in some hunter's place —Eric, was his name— and he was supposed to be happy they at least got the extra entertaintment of being with Eric's son, Grayson. The guy was kinda cool, yeah, but also 16 and didn't want to hang out with Sam because he was "just a kid"._

_They'd met him two summers ago under the same circumstances: summer, dads on hunts._

_And since Grayson_ did _like to spend time with Dean —their ages were not that distant apart and they shared a passion for movies— that meant that Sam got to spend most of his time in that house by himself, reading books or watching TV._

_He never used to go to Grayson's bedroom. He didn't like feeling like he was annoying. Dean would never let anyone mistreat Sam in front of him, let alone a friend, but Sam still knew Grayson rathered not spending time with him._

_He just went that one time because it was a special occasion: Dean's favorite movie, Schindler's List, was on TV and he wanted to let him know. Perhaps that way Grayson and him would join Sam in the living room and make him some company._

_Sam was not expecting at all what his eyes met when he opened the bedroom door. He barely caught the essence of what was happening: Grayson and Dean were kissing._ Kissing _. What?  
_

_Dean jumped back before Sam could even process anything.  
_

_"Sammy!"_

_"I won't tell Dad," Sam, loyal as always, said matter-of-factly. "I swear, Dean, not a word."_

_Dean in a second was in front of Sam, looking over his shoulders to give Grayson a tormented glance._

_"Give us a minute," Dean told Grayson as he pushed Sam out of the doorway._

_They sat on the living room couch, the holocaust movie in the background setting a mood just as akward as the whole situation._

_"Sammy," Dean said again. He sighed loudly. "You have to promise me you'll forget about this. I know you wouldn't tell Dad, but it's more than that. This—it was just a one time thing, and a mistake, even. I want to be an examplary brother for you, alright?"_

_"Dean, I don't really care if you-"_

_"_ Don't _say it." Dean took another deep breath and hugged Sam. "Just promise me, Sam, that you'll forget it and won't ever bring it up again."_

_Sam heard the speeding heart in his brother's chest._

_He sighed as well and hugged him back._

_"I swear. I promise."_

_"And if you love me, Sam, then please let's not talk about this. Ever."_

_Sam nodded and they pulled apart. Sam would forget about it for real, if that was what Dean wanted._

*

“Well, one day, back in the ‘95 we were in South Dakota, Dad was working a case in the middle of summer, and we were staying with a hunter friend of his. He had a son a couple of years older than Dean, Grayson. Long story short, I walked in on him and Dean making out.” Cass’ surprise was unmeasurable. “Dean almost fainted when he saw me and he made me swear I’d forget about it. He told me that if I really cared about him, I’d never bring the subject up again.”

Cass sighed relieved and content. He didn’t say anything, but Sam didn’t blame him. It was a _lot_ to take in.

“It’s worth a shot, right?” Sam added.

“I think it is,” he said neutrally. Sam could almost hear the engines working on Cass' head processing everything. "How do you manage to forget that, though?" Cass asked. In a lighter tone, he added: "You were 12, not five."

Sam shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. I think the 12-year-old me was so shocked he actually didn't know what to do with that information and decided to let it go."

Cass licked his lips, lowered his gaze, sighed and then looked back at Sam.

“Thank you, Sam. For telling me.”

Sam gave him a pat on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Cass. Just keep me out of it. And be aware of the fact that he did describe the situation as a mistake. I don't-I don't know what to think. He's sometimes so unreadable..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Also, don’t mention I told you this unless it’s extremely necessary.”

Cass nodded.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep the secret.”

Sam was a little anxious. Not because he'd told Cass about that, but because he was worried about the outcome of whatever Castiel decided to do with that information. Luckily, the hope in his friend's eyes wouldn't go to waste and all of this would've been worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyys, if you're reading please leave comment and kudos! let me know if you're liking it and if there's something not clear enough about the POV switches or literally just anything.
> 
> I know not all chapters are very long, but hey, I'm updating it regularly! :D
> 
> xx, Marian.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in the bunker, Castiel was still processing the information. He didn’t know how to feel. Faithful. Confused. Scared. Anxious. All at once.

Faithful. How couldn’t he allow himself to be faithful? Of course he was fantasizing about what it meant that Dean had at least kissed a boy in his childhood! It meant freaking chances for him! It meant that there had been an interest, once! Or a curiosity, or whatever, but something!

Confused because of the contradiction: he  _ could  _ have a chance, but the fact that indicated such thing had been dismissed and minimized by Dean himself.

Scared of being faithful in vain: Castiel feared rejection and everything that could go wrong if Dean’s past actions had been in fact a mistake.

Anxious because, well, it was in his hands to discover how Dean could or could not feel about him. It was his decision to tell Dean about this crazy, beautiful, huge and romantic love, and it would be his willing decision risking to lose Dean’s friendship for the possibility of being something greater than friends.

*

_ A couple of days later _

Team Free Will had successfully hunted down a demon —it felt surprisingly refreshing going back to the basics for a day—, which obviously meant they deserved to celebrate before something else, another monster, witch or  _ The End Of the World: The Third Edition  _ happened to come up again.

Dean had stopped at a gas-n-sip to buy frozen pizzas and beer, and with Air Supply’s best hits on the background they made their way home.

Once Dean had turned off the engine in the bunker garage, Cass said:

“Dean, can I talk to you?” 

On the rearview mirror, Cass’s eyes landed on Sam, who was sitting next to Dean. Cass added, “Alone.”

Sam pulled out one of those sadly fake ‘I just remembered I had something to do!’ faces and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll go ahead and start baking these,” Sam said, holding up the pizzas.

Cass nodded at Sam, throwing him a very particular look Dean couldn’t begin to decipher despite how well he knew Cass.

Sam started leaving, but then Dean noticed the 12-pack in his brother’s hands and realized there was a really important question to ask.

“Is it gonna take long, Cass? ‘Cause I could definitely use the beer.”

“Uh, um, no. I don’t know, take it if you’d like to. I pass.”

“Hey, Sam!” Dean called out. Sam turned around. Dean got out of the car and held out his hand. His brother, in return, with his annoyed bitchy face, put the pizza boxes down on the hood of the car and threw Dean a beer.

“So kind as always,” Dean said with a smirk after catching the can.

Sam picked up the boxes again and turned on his heels to leave. Once he closed the garage door to the bunker behind his back, Dean uncapped the beer and looked at Cass inside of the car.

“You gonna get out or what, Cass?” Dean asked, then sipped from the can. He leaned on the side of the car.

Cass got out and stood in front of Dean. Dean could tell something was going on. Cass’ hands were on his trench-coat pockets and his eyes fixed on the floor.

“So, what’s the matter?” Dean asked, trying to smooth things out. “Need any ladies advice? Because I’d appreciate that you know it’s wiser to ask me instead of Sam.”

“No,” Cass said plainly. Even as a human, his voice was full of monotonousness all the time.

He also seemed to still lack some conversation skills: while Dean just waited for Cass to continue, Cass stood there silently looking between Dean’s eyes and the garage floor.

“What is it, man? Did you get yourself in trouble?”

Cass was a confident person, in general. Even when he made mistakes, he didn’t hesitate to assume them and listen to the “I told you so”s that usually followed in the dialogue in Dean’s or Sam’s voice —mostly Dean’s. Dean was starting to worry about what could make his best friend look like he was a kid who was going to tell his parents that he’d been the one breaking their favorite flower vase.

“No. It’s about you.”

Dean sighed and took a long sip from his beer. That didn’t sound good. He took a few steps to the front of the car and sat on the hood. Cass walked to remain standing in front of him.

Things could go incredibly wrong from there. Dean just prayed to… whoever wasn’t an angel, God or a demon, that he hadn’t been lied to by Cass. That, or something worse. 

He didn’t doubt his ability to forgive Cass, but there was no need on testing how strong their friendship was.

“What is it this time?” Dean asked, his words biting and accusing, expecting a catastrophe.

Cass fidgeted on his feet and hesitated before sitting on the car next to Dean. His hands gripped the edge of the hood and his legs swayed slightly over the floor.

Dean’s mind could only go to the worst of places. The other terrible thing Cass could do besides keeping something from him was hurting Sam. But it didn’t make any sense, did it? Sam hadn’t been in any circumstance lately that could’ve been his fault. Dean couldn’t honestly think what could explain why Cass had been so quiet—quieter than usual, he meant.

“Dean,” Cass said, locking his eyes with Dean’s. He took a deep breath and Dean could almost see the bravery filling his friend’s chest. “I have feelings for you.”

Well, that—that sounded more complicated than it should’ve been.

“Feelings? What do you mean ‘feelings’?” His defensive tone spoke for itself and he just hoped that hadn’t been Cass really telling him what he thought he was telling him.

“Feelings, Dean, as in—” Cass sighed deeply. “As in I’ve learned to love you in a way I’d never loved before. I’m in love with you.”

Dean froze.

“Is this for real? You’re not…” he shrugged, “possessed or something? Maybe under a spell?”

Cass shook his head. “This is for real, Dean.”

The first thing crossing Dean’s mind was that he loved Cass as well. In a very brotherly way, but love, after all. That probably was the only thing keeping him from being radical and hurtful just to prove a point: Dean Winchester was not interested in dudes. Dean had gone over hypothetical scenarios in his head, and if that had been anyone but Castiel, he would’ve been halfway through his stand-up comedy routine already.

But this was Cass, Castiel, a former angel who saved Dean from Hell, a teammate, a friend, a brother.

Dean knew he had to say something. The silence was awkward and the longer Cass waited for an answer the worse it was the damage the words would cause.

“Cass. I’m…” Dean looked him in the eyes and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I never thought you would see me that way.”

Cass slowly seemed to repeat the words in his head as he gained composure.

“You’re saying you don’t return my feelings,” he stated simply, with a lot of disappointment flowing out with his words.

“You’re family. And nothing’s ever gonna change that,” Dean squeezed Cass’ shoulder. “But I don’t—I don’t return those feelings. I’m…,” not disappointed, just, “sorry.”

A part of Dean wanted to ask questions — _ how, since when, why me _ — but it was not the smart thing to do. His curiosity could wait until they were laughing this off in a couple of months, or luckily less.

“Don’t be,” Cass replied. “I knew it was meaningless to think you would like me.” Cass rose to his feet and walked to the door that led to the bunker.

“It’s not like that, Cass. It’s not about you,” Dean said hurriedly, getting off the hood. It was just too painful knowing he’d probably just destroyed Cass’ self-esteem. 

Cass shook his head and,  right before leaving, he  turned around with something between fury and hurt irradiating from every inch of his body: resignation.

“It never is, is it?” Cass said, looking Dean in the eye, before reaching the doorknob and slamming the heavy door shut behind him.

“Wait, hold on!”

Dean jogged behind him to apologize, to amend things, to talk or to do anything that could make Cass feel less pathetic. Dean understood very well how Cass felt; despite what everyone might’ve thought, he’d been turned down several times in his life and all of them had sucked a handful of dicks. If being rejected was hard, being rejected by someone who you appreciated as a friend and as part of your family must only be worse.

He really wished it wasn’t him causing him such pain to Cass, one of the best men he’d ever known, but he couldn’t feel guilty altogether just for not liking him back.

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t like men. It absolutely wasn’t.

Dean stormed into the bunker after Cass and followed him down the stairs. Cass turned around at the bottom.

“I only ask for a little respect, Dean,” Cass said. “Can’t you give me some time?”

Dean was serious and jaw-clenched. He nodded and then felt the urge to hit something.

Dean cursed under his breath when Cass was gone to his bedroom. He threw on the floor the empty can, then went to a mini fridge they had in a library corner to grab another one.

“Dean, what the fuck?” Sam asked, looking up from his laptop.

“It’s none of your business, Sam,” Dean said, opening the beer.

“Listen, Dean, do you think I’m stupid? I know what just happened!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Of course I do! It’s evident he likes you, Dean, and by the looks of it he just told you and you turned him down.”

Dean walked to Sam and put a hand on the table.

“You seem to know a lot, huh? This is what you’ve been talking behind my back, right? The reason you brought up Andy the other day when we were returning from a case? Couldn’t you just tell him to stand the fuck back?”

Sam closed his laptop and stood up.

“Listen, I don’t care who you sleep with, Dean. I don’t care if it’s a woman or a man and I’m not even sure I care if it’s human or not. But—that guy over there?” Sam’s arm followed the phrase with a gesture. “He’s the only friend any of us has left. So don’t be a dick, now more than ever he has feelings. Real feelings. Try not to hurt them so deliberately, dammit.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him!” Dean argued. Hell, Sam was not helping. “What was I supposed to do, feeling  sorry for him and pretend I do feel the same way?”

“I’m not saying you had to do that, I’m saying maybe you have to reconsider things.”

Dean drank from his beer. He was too tired to deal with Sam’s attempt of poetry. When he finished the sip, he looked at Sam straight in the eyes.

“Listen to me, man,” he said, deadly serious. “Fuck you.”

Sam sighed, almost looking as if he'd expected Dean to say that. Dean turned around, kicking his own way to his room.

He threw himself on the bed and covered his tired eyes with his hands. He reached for aspirins in the nightstand; sooner or later his head would start throbbing. 

He obviously needed to think and compartmentalize things. He was never good at that, but he could try.

For starters, he was surprised. He'd never even thought of the idea of Cass falling in love, or even liking someone in a romantic way. Dean believed they were always too busy to consider forming a family beyond themselves, and besides, the human Castiel was still something new to their lives.

It kind of made sense, though: it was not forming a family beyond themselves if Cass fell in love with one of the group. Plus, if he never shared time or moments with anyone else, Dean could start seeing the logic behind the consequences.

But that didn’t answer the question of why it was worth it falling in love with the straight friend. No, people couldn’t choose who they fell in love with, but that didn’t mean that acting on a crush was smart if rejection was guaranteed.

Now Dean felt pressured to keep things casual. It was overwhelming thinking how screwed things were between them at the moment. They had to clear everything up soon because more emotional distress was the last thing any of their lives needed.

He also had to be careful not to hurt Cass’ feelings anymore. He cared too much about Cass to make fun of his misery or to enjoy any of that, but still trying not to hurt him seemed to be a hard thing to do.

Dean fell asleep eventually, mixing all of those thoughts with dizziness from the beers and sleepiness from the day. He made up his mind and decided to talk to Cass in the morning, so they would bond and get over that unfortunate moment of their friendship.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad that I couldn't keep my promise of updating every two weeks. It's been a very busy Christmas break. I'm posting this chapter, sadly short, 'cause I rathered this over not posting at all. Hope you enjoy it and have a very happy New Year's Eve!

Castiel had been awake just a few minutes on his bed when there was a knock on his door.

He knew it was Dean; he may have not been an angel anymore, but being human had allowed him to be a lot more observing of human behaviors and associate them with their owners. For example, Dean’s knocks were firmer than Sam’s, and Sam’s footsteps were heavier than Dean's.

He didn’t want to talk to Dean just yet, but he didn’t discard that perhaps he had to say something important not related to last night’s so unfortunate event.

“Hold on,” he said, leaving behind his comfortable blankets. He looked in the mirror, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and walked to the door. As he opened it, the first thing he noticed was a plate with pancakes, strawberries, honey, and chocolate. Then, Dean.

“Good morning, Cass,” he said, grinning.

Cass would’ve shut the door if that hadn’t been such a ‘Dean’ thing to do. He sighed and smiled softly.

“Hi, Dean.”

“I made you breakfast. I… I feel terrible about yesterday,” he said holding the dish closer to Cass.

Cass let go of the doorknob and grabbed the pancakes.

“No, Dean, it’s all good. You don’t have to worry about it. You didn’t have to bother, either,” he looked down at the, he had to admit, very provocative dish, “to make me breakfast.”

“I know. I just wanted to apologize and keep things okay between us”. Dean sighed and shrugged. “After so long I wouldn’t want that mistake to make our relationship go to hell.”

Castiel was not surprised that Dean had called the situation a mistake. It didn't change the fact, though, of how terrible it felt that after so much courage and hope that was the way the whole thing was referred to.

He put on the best understanding-slash-kind face he could fake.

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Thank you for this again,” he added gesturing to the plate.

“All good, then?” Dean asked. He was wearing a grin—a genuine one.

“Yeah, all good.”

Castiel nodded politely as he closed the door. The last adjective he would use to describe how ‘all’ was ‘good’.

*

As days went by, Sam’s patience reached its end. He could barely handle how awkward things were in the bunker. Cass had told him about the breakfast apology and how things should’ve been fixed by them, but for some reason unknown to Sam, they weren't.

Well,  _ officially _ unknown. He could guess it was because Cass was still in love with Dean and that made it difficult for him to deal with rejection and keep treating Dean like a friend. Not that Sam implied the whole situation was Cass’ fault; he'd been part of everything by giving his friend hopes.

Dean could’ve also tried harder to ease things up between them. Maybe having a conversation with Cass about their feelings would’ve made it better. Or not, Sam wasn’t sure. If he considered it thoroughly, it also could’ve had an opposite effect to emphasize why they could never be together.

Although Sam didn’t buy Dean’s crap. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Grayson thing and knew his brother too well: he knew the immediate rejection had come up like an instinct to Dean, instead of a decision based on real arguments he later thought of. 

He didn’t have the details about the breakfast apology either. He only knew Dean had at least realized how necessary the gesture had been to try to ease any tensions. He’d failed, however: at the dining table, the largest awkward silence of all time was taking place and none of them dared to break it.

If Sam didn’t do something, anything, it would stretch for the whole day unless they found a case—and even then, things would be more silent than usual. 

Almost naturally, as if he’d been used to fixing dramas, Sam tried to be a concealer on the situation.

“Hey, Cass,” he said casually, “did Gabriel call you the other day? He’d mentioned me he had something to tell you.”

Cass looked up from his food.

“Oh, right. He did call. He told me to “suck his dick” because I didn’t tell him about the whole “human” thing.”

Dean grinned, his mouth was full.

“Typical,” he said.

Sam had managed interaction between them. That was a victory, wasn’t it? Now he just had to keep the conversation going. 

“I think I’ll have this in the Dean-cave,” Dean said. “The Spartans are playing against the Kapitals in 10 minutes.”

Yeap, not happening. Dean was on his feet and out of Sam’s sight in a second.

“I’ll finish and go out to buy groceries,” Cass said.

“And I’ll guess I’ll find something to do myself,” Sam finished, raising his eyebrows.

It was going to be the plot of the next Mission: Impossible to get things back to normal between those two.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter:
> 
> a) makes up for how short the last one was.  
> b) picks up right where the last one left off.  
> c) is the last one of this story :(
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. Don't forget to leave kudos to show this little writer some love!

It was going to be the plot of the next Mission: Impossible to get things back to normal between those two.

However, Sam was determined to accomplish the one goal of getting things  _ decent  _ between Dean and Cass. It was for everyone’s sake: it would make Cass feel better, Dean would stop being kind of a jerk, and Sam wouldn’t have to deal with the silence and the awkwardness for the rest of his life.

When he was, as expected, left alone at the table, he did the dishes while designing a plan in his head.

Sam had to talk to Dean and help him sort his shit out. There were bigger reasons to explain why Dean had turned Cass down. The first step for his brother to realize what he’d done wrong was to identify such reasons.

And, knowing Dean as well as only he did, he knew they had to get alcohol in the picture in order to have that conversation.

It was a good and nice plan: it wasn’t complicated, worked as an excuse to spend quality time with his brother, and almost securely would take him where he wanted to be.

As soon as he could, he would invite Dean out to go for a drink. 

*

Not even a week later, Sam and Dean went on a hunt in Memphis. It was a salt-and-burn, just 3 hours away from Lebanon. They had to wait until late at night to do the digging at the cemetery, though, so they’d spend the night before returning to the bunker.

The car was quiet as Dean drove to the same motel they stayed in last time they visited the town.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said.

“Hm?”

“What if we go out for drinks? There’s this bar like a block away from the motel-”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Dean replied, eying his brother on the passenger seat.

“I’m serious. It’s been a while since we had some brothers time”.

He sounded genuine. Dean actually missed them, the old times. When they didn’t carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and everything was so much easier. When every two weeks or less they’d find themselves celebrating a small victory and that was all they needed to be happy. But even with such nostalgic thoughts on mind, Dean he couldn’t help biting out his words when he spoke.

“Is this about Cass?”

“It’s about everything,” Sam answered. “I just feel like we need to talk, man. Home no longer feels like home; it’s like a prison. No one talks, we never hang out, it’s like you two hate each other in silence and I’m just stuck in the middle trying to make it better”.

Dean sighed. Sam sounded frustrated enough to deserve the talk and he also had a point: the bunker was getting unbearable.

“It’s fine. We can talk over drinks. I think I’ve been needing it as well.”

Dean saw Sam smiling out of the corner of his eyes.

“Y’know where’s the bar I was talking about, right?” 

“Yep”.

*

Dean realized he was getting seriously old when the burning tequila on his throat felt like an old memory he couldn’t really keep up with anymore. Any day from there he’d have gray hairs on his beard, dear God.

On the second round of shots, Sam questioned they needed the alcohol altogether.

And on the third, Dean finally approached the subject they were meant to discuss.

“So,” Dean started, “spill the wise words you wanna tell me”.

“Yes, about the whole Cass thing-”

“I was so pissed when I confirmed you knew”.

“Dean, think about what he was feeling! He didn’t want to go in blind”.

“Then why did you encourage him, Sam? You wanted some drama ‘cause we didn’t pay the cable this month?”

They weren’t light-headed. Alcohol was just making them forthright.

“Dean, listen, there’s something in all of this you don’t know, which is the actual reason I decided to encourage Cass,” Sam said, sounding as if he was confessing a crime.

Dean raised his eyebrows. He knew whatever came next was going to be shady. It could even involve a deal— 

“Just spit it out, Sammy, fuck”.

“I remembered”.

Dean was silent.

“Well, I’m gonna need a little more than that to understand the severeness of the situation”.

“I remembered Grayson. And you”. Dean cursed under his breath and shook his head. “Listen, man, I know you made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone but we were just kids and-”

Dean was mortified. He felt insulted, he felt betrayed, he felt small and vulnerable.

“A promise is a promise, Sam. How could you?” He said, accusingly. “Damn witch,” he whispered.

“Witch?”

Dean didn’t have much to lose by then. The least he could do was coming clean to Sam as well.

“After  _ that  _ happened, I found the contact information of a witch in dad’s stuff. I’d been looking for it, obviously. Made her put a spell on you so you’d forget. The only thing she asked in return was that I gave my dad a potion so he’d stop hunting her”.

“The only thing? Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? You could’ve let loose a creature that would cause deaths and misery. Damn it, she could’ve even killed dad with that thing!”

“I was desperate, alright? I know I took a lot of risks by doing that”. Dean was ashamed, even when it was an ancient mistake. “But hey, the Earth’s still spinning, okay? And I’m sorry I did that to you. I swear it’s the only time I’ve ever done something like that”.

Sam fidgeted with the shot glass on the bar.

“Yeah, and I guess I’m sorry for breaking my promise. I just thought that Cass— I still think, actually, that he has a chance, Dean”.

Dean shook his head vehemently.

“Sam, don’t start”.

“See? That’s the problem with you, Dean. You don’t even consider it. What would be so wrong in it? I know you love Cass!”

They were raising their voice, apparently, since Dean caught the bartender looking at them from the end of the bar. And no, he couldn’t stand having this conversation in public.

“Let’s get to the car, Sam. We’re putting up a show”.

Sam put some bills on the bar and followed Dean to the Impala parked outside. The car was silent, but no like earlier on the road. There was no breeze to ease the atmosphere, no engine running to fill the air. Instead, it was just Dean, his loud thoughts, and Sam.

Dean sighed behind the wheel, running his hands over his face as the formulated the answer he’d give to Sam’s last comment.

“Hell yes I love him, Sam, but that doesn’t mean I wanna kiss him and hold his hand as we walk on the seaside”.

Sam nodded. His eyes were looking for Dean’s, then they went to the front, possibly realizing they were being a little intimidating. 

“Did anything else happen with Grayson? Or… another guy?” Sam asked, still focused on the empty street.

Dean nodded and rested his neck on the seat.

“Until I was around 20 I fooled around a lot, Sam”. He turned to look at him and  _ fuck  _ it was hard looking at his little brother in the eye and practically coming out. “I never let myself get caught again after that day, though. You would’ve judged me so hard”.

“I wouldn’t have! Well, maybe if you made it look like an illegal shit I would’ve but if you’d just told me from the beginning I’m sure I would’ve not judged you. At all”.

Sam’s voice was comforting in the end. Dean felt exposed, but —besides Cass— Sam was the only person who he allowed himself to be vulnerable around.

Dean straightened on the seat and gulped.

“Don’t you see it? You say I made it look like illegal shit and it was. At home, it was, Sam. It was for Dad”. Dean noticed how reality slowly hit Sam in the face. “And that, along with this huge fear that you would tell him, precisely because you didn’t think it was a big deal, or thinking that it was only logical you stopped respecting me after what you saw— it was enough for me to realize I had to get over that ‘experimenting’ phase and never go back.

“When Cass told me that he was in love with me— he just caught me so off guard. You’re never expecting your best friend to tell you that. It fucked me up, ‘cause it made me remember all those things that happened while I was growing up, with Grayson and the others, and how happy those moments made me— and yes, I rejected him ‘cause that’s what I do, Sam. I block everything out and pretend I don’t need any of that.” Dean stayed silent for only a moment, which wasn’t even long enough for Sam to say something. He finally added, “I rejected him because, first off, he doesn’t deserve someone who’s as fucked up as I am”.

Dean went back to rest his neck on the seat and decided to appreciate the beauty in Baby’s roof. He couldn’t believe he’d just confessed all of that to Sam. Not because he didn’t trust him, but because those were things he’d never even admitted himself properly.

“Dean, that makes no sense. We all have issues. We, out of everyone, know how complicated things can get. And it’s not our fault that we were raised to believe it was wrong to like a guy. It’s just a fact”. Dean turned to him and let the words sink in. “It’s understandable that you lived for so long repressing those feelings, and I can even see why it just didn’t wear off magically during your adulthood. You were used to it. You had lied so much to yourself you were convinced it was no longer a lie”.

Sam took a deep breath and sighed heavily. He was clearly not over yet.

“What I find completely irrational is that you think you’re not enough for Cass. Dean, the other day over breakfast he was giving me a whole speech about you and how much he admires you. He knows you have flaws, like everyone. And if you only talked to him I’m sure you two could get somewhere good. I know you’d find a way to make it work”.

Dean felt his eyes watery. Ugh, he hated dealing with emotions so much. Being a rock was way easier, and less painful.

“See? That’s what I got you for. So you, smart-ass, can figure things out for me. I truly don’t even know what do next. Come and say ‘Hey, Cass, turns out I’m fucked up and rejected you because of childhood traumas’?” he asked sarcastically.

Sam snorted.

“Wouldn’t be the first time any of us says a line like that”. The playful tone ended and it switched to serious. “Listen, be honest with yourself. Think, take your time. Figure out what do you really want. Do you like Cass? If you do, how much? Are you on the same page as he is? Can you talk to him, tell him the truth so he knows what you’re going through?”

Dean nodded, understanding what his brother meant. Sometimes he hated Sam just a tiny little bit for always being right. 

“I know I’ve distorted the feeling a lot, but…” Dean remembered the first time he saw Castiel, an angel of the Lord. It shook everything inside of him. “I did like him. I just found a way to convince myself of the contrary”.

“Then undo that,” Sam said. Dean threw at him a hard glare. “Okay, it’s easier said than done but you at least know the feeling was there. Find it again, it can’t be that hard if you know already that he likes you back”.

Dean lowered his gaze, seeing the wheel, his hands, the board. He had a small smile on his lips.

“You know what makes it all even worse?” Sam listened closely next to him. “That we already got past through so many things, like —meeting our families and living together. Also, you see him as a brother and you’re  _ my  _ brother— what would it even be like, being with him?”

“Easier,” Sam answered, matter-of-factly. “It’s like you’re saying, you two already went through all the hardest stuff. I mean, for God’s sake, you can’t expect a conventional relationship when you two met because he, an  _ angel _ , saved you from Hell”.

Dean snorted. Yeah, Sam had a good point there. He turned on the engine and started driving back to the motel. 

“I gave him the mixtape, you know?” Dean commented. “The one that used to be my favorite”.

Sam was surprised, to say the least.

“The Led Zeppelin one of 13 tracks that even  _ I  _ know by heart? That one?”

Dean nodded, smiling proudly.

“Yeah. A moment of weakness, I guess,” he said, shrugging.

Sam just nodded, not saying anything else. Dean would always treasure such an honest talk, but he also wanted some space to digest everything. He deeply appreciated that Sam knew him well enough to understand that the subject was done for a few days, as well.

Once in the motel room, they almost immediately threw themselves on their beds and fell asleep. They were tired, but after the research, the digging, the shots, and the emotional talk, nothing less was expected. 

That night, Dean dreamed of Castiel. 

*

Dean hadn’t stopped thinking about his conversation with Sam. Realizing Cass deserved only the best of him, not the confused and insecure mess he was at the moment, was the first big step he gave.

Cass needed someone who could give him as much as he was offering, and Dean would make sure to slowly become that version of himself for him.

*

When Sam and Dean returned from Memphis, Castiel felt like something had changed for the better. He wasn’t able to put a name to it, but for some reason, things weren’t as awkward as before; it felt like a giant ball of condensed stress had found its way out through the bunker’s chimney.

For moments, even, Castiel forgot anything once had happened between Dean and him at all. It probably was the best thing to do.

*

Cass wearing the trench coat made Dean a little emotional. Of course, Cass’d kept it after he became human, and whenever they had to put on the monkey suits and pretend to be FBI agents, Cass would carry it as well.

Dean’s theory was that it gave him a sense of identity and belonging. Maybe, it even helped him feel that some things hadn’t changed that much.

Walking into a small, classic Kentucky diner with Cass and Sam, Dean wondered what would it be like to hold Cass’ hand. He was not sure if he could even imagine its texture—not precisely soft, probably rough— 

Thinking it was going to be manly, Dean felt a knot in his chest. It was suddenly too much for him to think of having a public gesture with another man that implied romantic involvement.

Perhaps if he imagined the situation in a private context, he would feel different.

“I’m gonna have french toasts and a water, please,” Sam’s voice made Dean realize the waitress was waiting for their orders.

“Uh, yeah, a bacon cheeseburger and a black coffee here,” Dean said.

“Another one of those burgers and an orange juice, please,” Cass said.

Dean disconnected again for a second. He imagined being with Cass, at home, holding hands over the map table. Yes, he did feel different (better). 

*

Dean already got a few scratches here and there when one of the last werewolves from the pack attacked him in the kitchenette of the small apartment. His angel blade was long forgotten somewhere on the floor, and he had to hold on until Sam or Cass came to his rescue.

Struggling underneath the werewolf to prevent it from biting him, Dean suddenly listened to the gross, characteristic and relieving sound of silver cutting through flesh. He saw the blade piercing its chest and took the heavy body off his, rising to his feet before getting himself even bloodier.

“Are you alright?” Cass asked, still with the blade in hand.

But the only thing Dean wanted to do was hugging him tight and hold on forever. He didn’t process he was actually doing it until it was too late.

“Guys,” Sam said, rushing in the kitchen. “You alright?”

Dean let go of Cass, avoiding his eyes and swallowing down a knot in his throat. 

“Peachy,” Dean said, looking at the dead werewolf that almost got him.

He seriously needed to work on acting impulsively.

*

Sitting on the Impala backseat, Castiel wondered what was going on with Dean. That hug—it’d just been so warm and sincere. He’d missed so much being close to Dean like that—not physically but in trust.

Castiel no longer doubted something had happened in Memphis that had made Dean change his attitude, but as long as it hadn’t been a magic spell or something alike, he was truly grateful for it. 

*

Dean almost got everything figured out: he had embraced the idea of being with Cass, holding his hand, hugging him and staying up until late hours of the night to tell him about everything that could cross his thoughts.

There was just one thing he still didn’t quite mastered, and it was taking all of that progress into sexy matters.

One night, after a tiring day of deep clean-up in the bunker, he decided he would start working in the issue. He was feeling in the mood for some release and, before he regretted it, he opened a generic porn website on his phone and tapped the “gay” tag on the menu.

With one hand he held his still mild-soft dick, with the other he scrolled down the thumbnails until one of them caught his interest. 

There was one from the point of view of a guy receiving a blow-job and... yes, that one would do it. He hit play and focused his attention on the video occupying the screen.

As he saw the guys flirting and undressing each other, he felt the electricity running on his skin and his dick jerking in his hand. Things were going fine until the guy actually started giving the other head. It was like a voice had entered Dean’s mind to judge him and make him feel guilty and ashamed.

He locked the phone, put it on his chest and closed his eyes, still holding his dick. He took a deep breath. No, he didn’t have to feel ashamed. Experimenting pleasure was something good and no one was judging him. Cass wouldn’t judge him. Sam wouldn’t. Everyone watched porn. Hell, he had been the one who fucking normalized watching porn in the first place. 

He knew it wasn’t about the fact he was watching porn. He knew it was the word “gay” which made him feel weird and uncomfortable. But what did he have to be ashamed of, after all? He did like dicks. Fuck, he missed sucking on one.

_ See? Your dick knows what you’re talking about _ , he thought.

He unlocked his phone and hit play again. He was determined to enjoy his self-pleasuring time.

*

It had been almost a whole month since Sam and Dean had the conversation in Memphis. Sam was well aware that it was going to take some time for Dean to gather his thoughts and talk to Cass. Still, he was afraid that his brother, sometimes too insecure for someone who’d saved the world twice, finally decided not to act on his feelings.

There was a thin line between “I’m taking my time to do things right” and “It’s been too long, nevermind” that Sam would not allow Dean to cross.

He went to the garage, where Dean was cleaning the leather seats on his car to the tune of Bryan Adams.

“Hi, Dean,” he said, then sat on one of the walls that separated the parking spots for the bikes.

Dean got out of the car, leather wipes in hand.

“Oh, hey, Sammy, what’s up?”

“You know, just wondering when you’ll be ready to talk to Cass. I don’t mean to pressure you, I just want to know if you’ve changed your mind or somethin’”.

“I was planning on knocking on his door tonight, actually. I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done all the thinking I needed to do”.

Dean leaned on the hood of the car.

“That’s great. I’ll make sure not to be around, then,” Sam said.

“Oh, c’mon, Sam, I’m just gonna talk to him. It’s not like we’re gonna start banging all over the bunker today. He can turn me down and everything”.

“I don’t think that’ll happen. Anyway, I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Sam said, preparing to leave the garage.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean called. Sam turned around. “Thank you”.

He just gave a small smile and nodded. He really wanted Dean to be happy.

*

Dean wished organizing a speech wasn’t strictly necessary. But if he didn’t, he’d skip important details and he wanted to make sure he told Cass everything he’d worked so hard in finding out for the past weeks.

The bullet points in his head were: apology +++, explaining (Sam), telling the truth (feels). He got over each one of them for the last time and walked down the hall to knock on Cass’ door.

His stomach was already flipping when he got there, not to mention how fast his heart was beating when he finally knocked on the wooden door.

“Hello, Dean”, Cass said, once he’d opened it. He had already changed to his sleeping clothes and looked peaceful, relaxed.

Dean, on the other hand, could tell he must’ve looked nervous. Or at least, to the eyes of someone who knew him very well.

“Listen, Cass. I’ve got so much I wanna tell you. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” his low, raspy voice said.

Cass grabbed a chair and put it next to the bottom of the bed.

“Take a seat”.

“Thank you,” Dean said then sat on the chair. Cass sat on the bed. “So, first off, I want to truly apologize for how I treated you when you told me how you feel. Or felt, I don’t know. I didn’t know how to react and I know I hurt you when I turned you down.” Dean was trying to read Cass’ expression; it showed him surprise and kindness. “I’m very sorry that I did that and that I tried to make up for it with just a breakfast the next day. I just wanted to forget it ever happened and I shouldn’t have been like that”.

Cass opened his mouth, but Dean wouldn’t let him talk.

“No, please let me finish.” Cass nodded. Dean continued. “I did it because I was scared. And because I didn’t know what else I could do. I talked to Sam a few weeks ago, when we were in Memphis, and he told me the truth, that he told you the Grayson story and, y'know, everything. He helped me realized I’d repressed that part of myself for a long time and that it was okay if I wanted to bring it back to life. And I want to, Cass, so much, with you”.

Cass’ jaw dropped. Dean was too far in not to finish his speech, but he really wished he could’ve known in advance whether he’d be the one getting hurt that time or not.

“I’ m sorry that I had to put you through this. Sam says it’s not our fault we were raised to believe it was wrong—liking men, I mean. But the point is I really wanna do things right with you and start off something good. That’s why I’m here, to tell you the truth. So if you say yes, I don’t want you to believe I’ll know what I’m doing. I want you to know that I could fuck up at any time because you’re so much for me. And if you say no, then it’s fine, but I hope you can at least forgive me for everything”.

Cass closed his mouth as if he was realizing that everything was actually happening. He passed his hand over his lips and his eyes were focused on Dean’s.

“Are you done?” Cass asked.

“Yes. I’m done”.

Cass held Dean’s hands in his. They were leaning in so slowly that Dean wondered if he could be imagining it.

A small part of him feared that he regretted it afterward. What if he did and this and ended up hurting  Cass even more? How would they repair that?

At the same, though, he didn’t mind his silly doubts. In his chest, his insecurities made emotions were overshadowed by curiosity and desire, because only God knew he wanted to know how those lips tasted.

He closed his eyes and Cass finally brought them into a kiss. Cass’ lips were rigid, definitely strong and definitely so very human. Dean stayed still.

Cass shifted back and looked Dean in the eyes. He was waiting for an answer, looking expectantly, probably wondering what Dean was thinking about.

Dean took a deep breath and placed a tentative hand behind Cass’ neck.

He kissed Cass again. It was more thoughtful; his lips curled up around Cass’ and he almost caught air to deepen it more. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he pulled back abruptly.

Cass’ mouth hung open in surprise. He logically thought the kiss was going to continue.

“Dean, is something wrong?” He asked, sounding worried and mortified. His hand was on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing and comforting.

“This is so much to assimilate,” Dean said. His index finger and thumb went over his lower lip. His expression was thoughtful as he took Cass’ hand in his and removed it from his shoulder to hold it.

“But was it—okay?” Cass asked.

“I don’t know how it was, dammit,” Dean spit.

Cass’ eyes fell and Dean saw behind them how his heart broke in pieces.

“Fuck, Cass, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that”.

Cass pursed his lips together. Dean should’ve known he would only get Cass hurt.

“Listen,” Dean said. He caressed Cass’ arms, loving how he was already allowed to do such an intimate and caring thing, even when he had just fucked up. “I like you. I do. But I don’t know why I’m so scared”.

“Don’t be. Please.” Cass cupped his face and held his jaw. Dean remained still. His thumb caressed Dean’s cheek. “You don’t have to be.”

Dean’s eyes fixed on Cass’. 

“Do you think this isn’t new for me, Dean? Yet I am not afraid because I trust you. So please, trust me back”. Dean nodded repeatedly, closing his eyes and leaning into Cass’ tender hand. “And I forgive you. For everything. And I understand that this isn’t easy for you either. We’ll figure this out together”.

Dean relaxed and let all his misery aside. He leaned in again and enjoyed Castiel’s lips.  

The kiss was overwhelming in a different way. It was everything Cass and him had gone through to get there, all the moments, all their history, everything they’d built, their trust and their love. It was their essence put into action, into a gesture. Into a kiss.

Dean was being slow and cautious. One hand timidly stroked Cass’ shoulder and he used the other to support on the bed.

His nose was so filled with Cass it was intoxicating. Dean couldn’t help but breaking the kiss again, nuzzling over a side of Cass’ face. He sniffed and smiled at the smell. He kissed Cass’ cheek and the hand on his shoulder danced over his arm, finally tangling their fingers together. Dean looked down at their hands. He lifted Cass’ hand and kissed it. 

“You’re special, Cass.”

Cass’ eyes were sunk in Dean's. His glare was transparent and deep.

“You are, too, Dean”.

With the next kiss, Dean understood that he loved Cass. After the one that followed, he couldn't imagine his life without him. And with the other, Dean realized that getting undressed and reaching skin, having sex, wasn't needed to make love.

Love was made in every small thing they shared and they'd been doing it since they met. It was love-making when they created the foundation of a healthy relationship of allies, companionship, friends and finally lovers.

They were making love when they laughed together, when they fought because one of them had risked too much on a hunt, or when they silently understood each other's pain after things had gone to hell.

When they cooked together, when they hugged, when Dean thought about Cass and his heart never stopped knowing that they were meant to be together.

And at that moment, with Cass in his arms and their lips meeting that feeling, everything was clear.  


They, like one of Dean's favorite songs said, made love out of nothing at all.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is truly beautiful and I invite you all to listen to it. 
> 
> I made this work part of a series because I plan to post another fanfic only with smut c: we all deserve it, hehe.
> 
> I hope you are doing well,  
> Marian.


End file.
